


A Whisper of Death

by Luxie



Series: The Lion of Azeroth and the Mage Named Trust [3]
Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, LionTrust, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 10:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7311013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxie/pseuds/Luxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things you cannot train for, dark enemies that no sword can defeat. Not even a sword wielded by the Lion of Azeroth.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whisper of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this reads as an independent story? But really, why would you want to. Go read Power of the Twilight first.
> 
>  **Bonus question** : I am really interested in hearing what you guys actually think of the ship name. Also, I really just want to talk to people about this ship.

When they were young Lothar, Llane and Medivh had been joined at the hip. Inseparable like a pack of stray dogs they roamed Stormwind, every inch of it theirs, from the alleys of Old Town to the gardens of the Mage Quarters.

They had shared their first bottle of port on the bridge between Old Town and the Dwarven District, written their names on a scrap of paper and sent the bottle down the stream. They had slain their first boar together in Elwynn forest, Llane dealing the killing blow and painting all three of their faces with the blood.

Lothar had known from a young age that their easy friendship had an expiration date, knew that Llane had the mantle of a king waiting for him, just like he knew Medivh was destined to pick up the staff of his mother, the last Guardian. Lothar knew it meant letting them both go eventually, but even then he was not prepared for the grief he felt when Medive, shortly after reaching the age of Ascension, slipped away into a coma. Lothar spent hours upon hours at his side, holding his hand and whispering in his ear. He had never imagined that somewhere from beyond the realm of Azeroth someone else was whispering, too.

It took ten years before the mage awoke from his deathlike sleep and even then Lothar and Llane both knew that their friend was gone. Still, it wasn't until he saw Medivh's eyes glow green in the Tower of Karazhan that Lothar knew who had taken him.

A month after leaving Stormwind Khadgar shows up in his tower, injured. Lothar is summoned by a breathless squire and never before has he though the city to be too big, the winding roads between the smithy and the ramp to Khadger's tower so lengthy.

There is blood on Khadgar's clothes and on his hands, blood staining his young face and dripping from the corner of his mouth. He is leaning against a bookshelf, eyes closed, and for a horrible moment Lothar is sure he is dead. Then he stirs, a flash of pain distorting his soft features, and Lothar releases the breath he's been holding.

It's still too soon for relief, though, because Khadgar has several deep claw marks on his arm and across his chest, and Lothar has seen lesser wounds take the life of a warrior, if not tended to immediately. There are healers there, of course, already treating the young mage, but there is no telling how long it has been since Khadgar was attacked. The gashes seem fresh, continuing to ooze blood as Lothar watches the Clerics work, but he has the nagging suspicion that the wounds are kept open by foul magic. At least Lothar has seen enough bear and wolf attacks to know that this is neither.

He spends the night at Khadgar's side, watching the Clerics of Northshire work to stop the bleeding, calling upon the Light to heal the wounds. Lothar remembers sitting in this very room years ago, hoping for a miracle that never came.

Medivh had been so still, pale and unmoving except for the soft rise and fall of his chest. Khadgar is anything but still, thrashing and whimpering in his sleep. Lothar stays at his side, enduring the distressed moans and sobs that escapes Khadgar's lips, feeling every bit as powerless as he had as a youth.

It's well into the early hours before the mage finally seems to find a bit of peace and a Cleric approaches Lothar with his verdict. Lothar isn't surprised to learn that Fel is the root of Khadgar's sufferings; It was a magical plague that seemed determined to tear Lothar's world apart, had been tearing it apart for years without his knowledge.

While Medivh had been in a coma Lothar had taught himself to master the sword, to raise his skills beyond any of his peers, not satisfied until he was unrivalled in the entire kingdom, determined to never feel powerless again. Now all of that seems in vain, because Lothar has no idea how he is supposed to fight against a magic that can breach the veil between worlds and turn the hearts of good men.

Lothar had trained young warriors for near a decade, boys and girls who had been sent to Stormwind to serve in the guard. Lothar isn't pained to admit that he's been tougher on the soft children, the ones who were sent here by their parent's will rather than their own. He let them take the blunt of his teaching, demanding more of them than he did from the natural fighters, showing them how to use their wits while fighting someone stronger. The power of a trail-forged heart and a quick mind ment that very few of them had failed to become even better fighters than the rest of their class.

Lothar had done the same with Khadgar. The young Mage had not been trained to fight and Lothar had pushed him from the very beginning, challenged him like he would one of his trainees. In the end Khadgar had proven his worth as he and Lothar had faced Medivh and his Curator in the Tower of Karazhan. When Khadgar had decided to leave Stormwind, to seek out knowledge in the dark corners of Azeroth Lothar had been reluctant to let him go, but not because he was afraid that the young mage would get hurt, not because he didn't think Khadgar was up for the challenge. Not even in a moment of spite had he imagined that Khadgar would turn up in Stormwind, near the brink of death.

Lothar knows this to be true as he watches the labored breathing of Khadgar, as he traces the red stains seeping through the Runecloth bandages with the tips of his calloused fingers. No, Lothar had other reasons for not wanting the young mage to leave, one of them made clear to him in the Tower of Karazhan, where Lothar had been faced with killing his once-best-friend. It was then that he had realized that Khadgar had come to fill a space in Lothar's heart that he didn't know needed filling. He had let himself be the lonely Lion, protecting his flock without really being a part of it. He had trained to become the best, unbeatable but isolated, and he had forgotten what it meant to put his life in someone's hands and trust them to keep it safe.

A fortnight after Khadgar's return he finally wakes from his nightmares. Lothar takes the young mage's face between his hands and shushes him, thumbs stroking away tears. He doesn't ask what Khadgar had seen to cause such pain and Khadgar doesn't tell. In fact, for the first two days after waking Khadgar is a mute, either deep in his own thoughts or sobbing as Lothar soothes his tremors with his own body.

Lothar cleans the scabbing wounds, trying to ignore how Khadgar flinches from pain.

“Your runes worked. You found your way back here.” Lothar says, even if what he really wanted to say was _back home_. Khadgar doesn't answer.

“The Clerics weren't sure they had found you in time.” Lothar presses on, the water in the bowl turning pink as he wrings the cloth.

“I never imagined-” Khadgar says, voice croaky and barely more than a whisper. Lothar has to use every bit of his restraint to keep himself from bombarding the young mage with questions, instead fisting the sheets until his knuckles turn white. When Khadgar does continue his voice is controlled and detached.

“It was a terrible beast, horns coming out of its back and long feelers whipping around it's bristled body. It could block my spells, drained my magic.” Khadgar pauses, eyes distant. “I was helpless against it.”

“You made it away.” Lothar points out, because surely that is all that matters.

“Only because it was busy feeding on another Mage.” Khadgar says and his voice is breaking as he continues, “I left her there to die.”

Lothar remembers the pain of survivor's guilt well enough. “I'm sorry. I know how hard that must have been.”

“I thought I was prepared to face the horrors of this world.” Khadgar says.

“If this creature was created by Fel then it was not of this world.”

At those words Khadgar turns his head, eyes finally meeting Lothar's. “It is now.”

When Khadgar is cleared to leave Lothar and his sister are both there, Taria helping Khadgar dress in a simple robe and Lothar supporting his weight as they lead him from the Cathedral of Light to a guest room in the Palace. Khadgar had claimed to be fine in his Tower, but they had dismissed him, the Queen from concern and Lothar from the need to have Khadgar closer. It's a selfish need, but Lothar is not ashamed of it. After days of not knowing, fearing the worst and being unable to help, Lothar is not about to let Khadgar out of his sight just yet.

Lady Taria takes her leave and Lothar helps Khadgar undress before getting him into bed. The short walk had taken what little strength the mage had managed to accumulate since waking and Lothar would be inclined to let him sleep if not for the red stains on the bandages around Khadgar's chest. Lothar unbinds them, gentler than he would have been with his own.

“They're not infected.” Khadgar says, eyes drifting from Lothar's hands to his face.

“No, they seem clean.” Lothar agrees, purposely obtuse because he wants Khadgar to keep talking.

“I mean-” The mage hesitates. “I mean they aren't infected with Fel magic. _I'm_ not infected.”

“You would say that even if you were.” Lothar points out.

“If you think that then you don't know me at all.”

“Fel corrupts even good people.”

“I told you-”

“Yes, that you won't betray me like Medivh. Here's the thing: when we were young Medivh was like a brother to me and the boy I knew would never have betrayed me either.”

“I didn't know.”

“It's already history.” Lothar says, eyes lingering on Khadgar's chest for a moment too long before he manages to drag his gaze away. When he moves to apply the new bandages Khadgar's gentle hand stops him.

“Tell me.” He says, brown eyes imploring despite his exhaustion. Lothar allows the warmth in his chest to spread, letting it fill him up.

“You are feisty for one bleeding out on a bed, aren't you?” he teases, but all Khadgar does is wait. Lothar sighs.

“There's nothing to tell. Medivh was the first victim to Fel in this world. Thousands more have died and we are no closer to finding a way to stop its spread.” Lothar says, meeting Khadgar's stare. “I failed Medivh just like I failed Llane. Just like I failed you. I'm the captain of the biggest army in Azeroth and I can't even protect those most important to me.”

Lothar frees his hand from Khadgar's feeble hold, leaning in close to reach around Khadgar's chest to bind it. Khadgar flinches at the cold hands on his skin and Lothar tries his best to ignore the sudden quickening in his heart rate and the uneven rhythm of his breaths.

Every afternoon Lothar takes Khadgar for a walk in the gardens. They never touch, unless Lothar helps Khadgar to sit on a low stone ledge or to support the mage as they climb the stairs. Lothar has always been aggressive in the past when coming on to partners, never shied away from letting people know how he truly feels or what he wants from them. Khadgar, soft and young and guarded, is different than anyone Lothar has ever desired before.

As they walk they discuss the first war, the creature – this Fel Stalker- that had attacked Khadgar, their plans and Khadgar's new findings. Lothar also spends the time trying to come to terms with what his heart is telling him. He knows Khadgar is not going to be his; Great destinies are often intertwined, but never aligned.

“Your heart is split.” Taria tells Lothar one day as he escorts her through the streets. Varian is running on ahead, battling invisible foes with an invisible sword, his growls ferocious like a wolf pup.

“My heart is in Stormwind.” Lothar says.

“That is true,” Taria says, giving him a smug smile. “but for how long?”

“You imagine things, you always have.”

“As I imagined the love you had for Medivh?” She says and her smile is gone. “The love you had for Llane?”

“Should I be blamed for loving my King now?”

“No.” She says, eyes on the spire of the Cathedral. “All who knew Llane loved him. But I think the two of us loved him more than anyone else and not in all too different ways.”

“Will there be a point coming?”

“Anduin.” Taria stops walking. “You've been fighting since you were a boy and I never understood why you were so determined to make your life hard. Now, I won't deny your skills have saved this kingdom more than once, but there is more to life than battles and quick, dirty fucks in dark rooms.”

Lothar has never heard his sister speak like this and for a moment he just gapes at her.

“That boy is far too young for you,” she continues, “but by the Light, he could be the best thing to ever happen to you. Why do you insist on fighting this, too? You know life is short, brother - no one knows it like you - but happiness is even more fleeting. Trust me.”

Lothar knows she is right. Taria has always had a read on him, no matter how hard he tries to push her accusations aside. Khadgar might never be his, but that doesn't stop Lothar from wanting him. His desires are only made stronger by the knowledge that Khadgar wants him, too, but for the first time Lothar is afraid to take what he wants, because getting it means he can lose it.

“There is no way for me to win in this.”

“Who said anything about winning?” Taria says impatiently, turning away and continuing her walk. “Try for once in your life to surrender.”

It is not in Lothar's nature to surrender, but he understands the wisdom of his sister's advise. Surrendering means baring his weakness and Lothar would not risk it with anyone else, but he trusts Khadgar, trusts that if he does open up then Khadgar will not abuse what he finds there.

Lothar finds the mage in his tower with a Cleric, an older woman who excuses herself as soon as Lothar enters. Khadgar seems well, smile on his face as he sees Lothar and color in his cheeks and lips.

“I thought we could venture past the city walls today.” Khadgar says. “There is a mine not far from here that I heard about as a child.”

Lothar hesitates. He knows which mine Khadgar means, but the walk is long, far longer than anything they have tried so far and he isn't sure Khadgar is ready for it. Still, the weather is nice and Khadgar does seem stronger than he had just yesterday. In the end Lothar agrees because he wants to keep that smile on Khadgar's face.

While Khadgar is packing quills and ink into his Mageweave bag Lothar looks around the tower. The walls are filled with hand drawn maps and sketches of a vicious-looking beast that Lother now knows to be a Fel Stalker.

“I know it wouldn't make any difference if I asked you not to leave again.” He says, eyes finding a detailed depiction of Karazhan and the windswept, jagged gorges that surrounds it.

The mage looks up, seemingly confused for a moment until he sees what Lothar sees.

“I'll have to eventually,” Khadgar says, shrugging, “but for now there is something more important that requires my attention.”

“Such as?”

Khadgar smiles, stuffing one of his sketch books into his bag. “Well, I've thought about what you said about hurting because you couldn't protect the people you care about.”

Lothar almost denies it, would have denied it instantly if it had been anyone else making such claims, but it's not anyone. It's a stubborn, young mage with brown eyes that light up when he speaks about old, dusty texts and whose hands are beautiful and expressive when he draws. Lothar can get lost in the way he laughs and the way his lips sometimes move when he's deep in thought, forming silent words.

“I was unprepared for that creature,” Khadgar says, moving closer, “but I'm a quick learner and I won't make the same mistake again. I know more now, know Fel magic better than I ever cared to. The next time I will beat that creature and the time after that I will do it even faster, better.” Khadgar pauses, chest heaving from eager anticipation. “What I'm saying is, that if you're willing to put your trust in me then I will do what ever is in my power to protect this realm.”

 _Surrender_ , Taria's voice whispers in his mind and she is right; if there were ever a time to let himself be vulnerable, this is it. So he lets himself fall and Khadgar is there to catch him with his mouth, lips and breathless moans clashing in the silence of the tower.

Khadgar is exactly as Lothar remembers him, exploring and willing and so very alive. He is clearly not inexperienced when it comes to intimacy; If Lothar had harbored any doubts they had been put to shame the last time they were alone in this tower. Khadgar had given himself to Lothar without restraint, without hesitation, body warm, comforting and generous as Lothar had moved in him.

It's different this time, because Lothar isn't hurting from the loss of his friends. Instead Khadgar moves with determination, mouth leaving Lothar's to seek out his neck and collarbone, hands quickly undoing the buttons on Lothar's shirt. With a soft moan he traces a line with the flat of his tongue across Lothar's chest and it's all Lothar can do not to slam him up a wall and rut against him.

Instead he angles Khadgar's face up to reclaim his mouth, letting his hands travel lower for purchase. It's not until Lothar's hands reaches Khadgar's chest that he sobers, fingertips catching on Runecloth bandages. He breaks the kiss, arousal mixed with shame, because he had completely forgotten that Khadgar was still injured.

“You're not healed.” Lothar reminds the mage.

“I don't care.” Khadgar says, letting out a frustrated groan when Lothar pulls away anyway. “You were going to take me to the mine. Instead you can take me apart.”

“I would prefer if that was figuratively and not literally.” Lothar says, thumb caressing Khadgar's cheek as an apology. “Because you are right; I do need you. I need your powers to defeat Fel, yes, but I also need you, in a way that I haven't let myself need anyone for years.”

Khadgar seems spellbound, eyes wide with wonder. “That is the most sentimental thing I have ever heard leaving your mouth.”

“Don't get used to it, mage.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn't have the same effect on me if I did.”

“And what effect is that?” Lothar asks, realizing that his heart is no longer split, instead belonging wholly to the mage in front of him.

“So this mine,” Khadgar says, clearing his throat as he turns away to look for his discarded bag, “will we need to bring candles?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think this calls for a third part, don't you?  
> Tell me your thoughts below or hit me up on [Tumblr](http://flyingassassin.tumblr.com/).


End file.
